


You're that Someone

by matchst_ck



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Best Friends, Coming of Age, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gallavich, Growing Up Together, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, at times - Freeform, just a bit, kids to adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8363422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchst_ck/pseuds/matchst_ck
Summary: "She watched, smiling, as Mickey’s chubby little hand reached out to pat her youngest brother curiously. It looked like Ian had made a friend."---Mickey and Ian meet as babies and friendship blossoms. Here are some snapshots of their lives, together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mickey and Ian hold a dear place in my heart. This is my first Gallavich story and I hope to write more. I hope whoever chooses to reads this finds some enjoyment in it :)

Fiona wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

It was freezing and she could barely hold Ian up, his body strangely still as Lip snuggled in under her other arm for warmth. She looked around desperately but wasn’t surprised to find that Frank had gone.

_”Wait here Fiona. Just a minute, I won’t be long.”_

Tears filled her eyes as she clenched her teeth. She was only six but she knew that Frank was exactly what that politician had called that hooker on television the other day. _A damn dirty liar_. It wasn’t until Ian snuffled again quietly that she realised she had to move. His face was burning up against her armpit and she needed to get him to the clinic. Determined, she set off on foot.

“Fiona?” 

Fiona’s feet stopped moving.

“Fi? Honey, where are you going with those boys?”

Fiona turned to find Mrs Milkovich pushing that worn stroller she’d seen Iggy in before. One of the front wheels still jarred to the left with a squeak.

“It’s Ian- he’s, well I think he’s sick.” She looked up at her not-too-far-off neighbour while hoisting Ian up her arm a bit higher. Fiona had learned early on not to trust adults. At six years old she’d had enough experience with her own parents to put her off for life, but she was desperate to get Ian help. _Mrs Milkovich might be able to help._

Mrs Milkovich let go of the pram as she bent to Fiona’s level. Her hand came out slowly, headed towards Ian’s sweaty baby forehead but she glanced at Fiona first. Fiona nodded her go ahead. She liked that Mrs Milkovich had thought to sort of ask. Her whole hand was too big, so she pressed three fingers to his forehead before Fiona heard her tsk.

“He’s got a fever honey, I think he needs to go to the clinic.” She stated.

Fiona managed to refrain from rolling her eyes and instead looked imploringly at the dark haired woman. “I was going there. I just- Frank left us here and told me to wait but Ian needs help.”

“That no good son of a bitch.” Mrs Milkovich stood back up on her worn out, yellow wedges and held out her hands. “I’ll take you. Pass Ian to me, I’ll put him in the stroller with Mickey. Hopefully that’ll make him a bit more comfortable. I’m afraid you and Phillip-”

Lip looked up out of Fiona’s other arm for the first time, a frown on his little face under all those curls. “Lip.”

“Lip, I’m sorry.” Mrs Milkovich smiled. “I’m afraid you and Lip will have to walk alongside if that’s going to be ok?”

“That’s great.” Fiona sighed relief as Ian was gently plucked from her arms. She wrapped both of them around Lip now and edged over to look in as Ian was placed besides another, slightly bigger and more alert baby. “Hi Mickey.” She smiled. He was a cute baby, all fluffy black hair and blue eyes that seemed to take up most of his face.

Mickey proceeded to belch louder than she’d ever heard a baby belch, before he proceeded to stare at Ian who was now tucked into his side. Fiona felt more than heard Lip chuckle under her arm.

“What is it?” She whispered, as Mrs Milkovich proceeded to hustle them down the street to the clinic. Fiona thought that if she could ever trust an adult, it might just be Mrs M.

“Look at their hair.” Lip giggled, pointing a stubby finger out to where Ian and Mickey had snuggled in to each other, their hair fluffed together. “Together they look like a tiger.”

Fiona laughed and kissed his curls. She watched, smiling, as Mickey’s chubby little hand reached out to pat her youngest brother curiously. It looked like Ian had made a friend. 

*-*

Ian patted his pants pocket, checking the item was stashed away before he trotted down the stairs to find Fiona attempting to force Debbie’s awkwardly stiff body into her high chair.

“Debbie please! Don’t you want your-” Fiona paused as she squinted down at the baby food jar before grimacing. “Mixed vegetable puree? What the fuck?” She sighed holding Debbie like a star fish above her seat. She spotted Ian as he came forward, smiling.

“Here.” He reached a hand up, pushing himself onto his tip toes before pressing tickling fingers under Debbie’s flowery top. The baby giggled and scrunched her body in which gave Fiona the opportunity to quickly plop her down into the chair.

“Thanks buddy!” Fiona looked down to find Ian wrapped up in her old scarf and Lip’s old parka. “Where are you off to?”

“Mickey’s.” Ian grinned, showing off his newly formed gap toothed smile. “It’s his birthday. He’s six.”

“I know Ian, I know. You’ve been telling me every day for two weeks.” Fiona laughed. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you over? I could feed Debbie and we could go together?”

“Fi, I’m five, I can walk to Mickey’s all by myself.” Ian crossed his arms.

“Ohh, that’s right. You’re a big boy now.” She popped the lid off the baby food and proceeded to dig some hopefully delicious puree out for Debbie. "Well, big boy. Did you remember the present?”

Ian’s eyes went comically wide before he zoomed out of the room and she could hear him tripping back up the stairs. He was back in no time, paper bag in hand as he came up and hugged her leg.

“Thanks Fi, I almost forgot. I’m going to go now.” 

And with that he left, Fiona’s ‘have fun’ trailing behind him as he tugged the front door closed. He pulled his scarf further up his neck at the chill in the air as he headed to the Milkovich house. He hoped Mickey liked his present. It wasn’t big and even though Fiona had told him it wasn’t expensive, he wasn’t too young to appreciate that spare cash wasn’t something that hung about in their house and that it had taken Fiona a couple of weeks to save up the money for it. He just really hoped Mickey liked it.

He rounded the corner to Mickey’s house but bypassed the front door, heading instead down the alley beside the house. The window was closed but he expected that. Clutching his paper bag and present tight in one hand, he dug around his pants pocket for the other item he knew was there. Pulling the whistle from his pocket he blew into it twice, trying not to be too loud. You never quite knew when Terry Milkovich was around. 

He waited a heartbeat, then two, before he saw the window start to shuffle up quietly. He grinned, pocketing his whistle and tugged himself carefully onto the mountain of crap outside the window. As he looked up at the lip of the window, a dark head of hair popped out as Mickey reached down to grab him under his arms. 

“Geez Gallagher,” Mickey huffed tugging the younger boy in as Ian’s feet scrambled against the wall for leverage. “What’s that sister of yours been feeding you?”

Ian threw his legs over the window ledge and dropped directly onto Mickey’s bed smiling. “Meatloaf, and I had loads of it.”

Mickey huffed as he tugged the window closed before he fell to the bed, legs folding beneath him. Ian was shucking his coat. “My dad’s gonna be home soon, so you might not be able to stay long.” Mickey chewed his lip, thumb brushing against his chin. He didn’t voice it, but Ian could hear the apology anyway.

“That’s ok Mick, I just wanted to bring you this.” He smiled as he dropped the paper bag onto Mickey’s lap.

“What’s this shit?” Mickey poked at the bag but Ian smiled as he watched the tell-tale red blush creep up the older boys neck.

“It’s a present Mick, you’ll have to look in it to find out.”

Mickey chewed his lip some more before breathing a sigh out of his nose and looking up at the red head. “I thought we said no presents?”

“Yeah, well. Like you said last time we took those candy bars from the Kash and Grab, rules are made to be broken.” Ian grinned, pulling a small smile from Mickey. “You’re my best friend, Mickey. Happy Birthday.”

And that’s all Ian had to say and he saw Mickey’s shoulders relax, and his eyes soften. Those expressive eyebrows fell more naturally and Mickey grinned, looking exactly like the six year old he actually was, as he dug a hand into the paper bag. Mickey pulled his hand out, before dangling the item from a finger.

“A keyring?” His brows furrowed as he looked at it. 

Ian pushed forward onto his knees, excited. “Yeah but it’s like, a digital keyring Mick. See here?” Ian pushed the little on switch on the front and a small LCD screen lit up. Ian’s green eyes turned to watch Mickey’s face as he took in the flashing images on the screen.

“That’s us!” Mickey grinned, pulling the keyring closer as he watched images of him and Ian flash by on the screen. “I forgot what a fat little baby you were Ian.” He laughed as Ian huffed, amused.

“Yeah, I just thought that, well, I know I like to look at those photos Fi took of us and I thought you might want to as well, so Lip took them to school with him and his teacher loves him because he always aces his homework so she let him scan the pictures in at school and then he put them on this… this stick thing and me and Fi took them to that digital photo shop in the mall? The one by the bakery? And we put them on here and I hope you like it Mick, I hope you do-”

His rambling was finally cut off as Mickey, with surprisingly moist eyes, leapt forward and wrapped arms around his neck. Ian’s hands immediately clutched his dirty tank top at the back, returning the embrace.

“It’s great Ian, it’s really great.” Mickey tucked his face into Ian’s neck. “Thank you,” it was quiet, but Ian caught it. He nuzzled into the dark hair.

“You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Mickey.”

*-* 

The constant nudging was starting to piss Ian off. It wasn’t until he started to come around from heavy sleep that the heard the voice to go along with it.

“Ian, Ian… sleepy face wake the fuck up.”

“Mickey?” Ian rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, trying to clear away the sleep. “Mick, what are you doing here?”

“Need to crash somewhere that’s not my house, shove up.”

It took a couple of minutes for Ian’s eyes to adjust before he could take in the sight of the boy before him. Mickey had his free hand wrapped around his ribs and though Ian couldn’t quite make out the colour he could see the split lip and the stains of blood on his face.

“What the fuck happened Mick?” Ian sat up, swinging his legs out as he raised gentle fingers to Mickey’s chin. Mickey tapped his hand away but was interrupted before he could answer.

“Would you two take this midnight rendezvous fucking elsewhere? Some of us are trying to sleep here.” Lip grumbled, rolling over in his bunk.

Ian shot him the middle finger, not that the older boy could see it and grasped Mickey’s wrist as he tugged him out of the shared bedroom. He veered right into the bathroom, turning the light on and wincing as he adjusted to the brightness.

“Mickey, what hap-” he turned to face the dark haired boy and abruptly stopped, mouth open. Mickey’s face was a mess. Black eye, split lip and a gash over his eyebrow that must have bled profusely because his face and shirt were covered in it. “Mick, what the fuck.” The words came out breathy but they still made Mickey wince.

“Pissed my dad off. That’s all you need to know Gallagher.” Mickey snapped, prickly.

Ian ignored the raised eyebrows as he grasped Mickey’s shirt at the hem. He tugged upward, prevented only by Mickey’s arm across his middle. There was a short stalemate, green eyes met blue and held before Mickey relented, muttering under his breath as he moved his arm. Ian tugged the shirt up and off and dropped it aimlessly to his side.

Mickey’s ribcage was a mottled bruise and Ian wasn’t sure where it started or finished. He reached fingers out, brushing them ever so gently down Mickey’s side. Mickey flinched. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t, your fingers are just cold.” Mickey side eyed him as Ian clenched his fist.

“I’m going to kill him.” Ian muttered taking in the state of his best friend.

“Ay,” Mickey grabbed his clenched fist, tight. “Don’t. Don’t say that, alright? I don’t ever want him coming after you. You stay far away from that fucker, you hear me Ian?”

“But Mick, he hur-”

“No Ian!” Mickey pulled him close. “No. Look, I fucked up on a run today and he got angry, that’s it. I’ll do better next time.”

“What do you mean next time? You’re thirteen and you’re his son Mick and he’s done this to you! What kinda dad does that?” Ian couldn’t help but think of Frank. As rubbish as his dad was, at the very least he’d never do _this_ to him. 

“What fucking world do you live in Gallagher?” Mickey was angry. Ian breathed, trying to calm himself.

“The wrong one, obviously.” He sighed before turning, Mickey’s arm in hand and eased him to sit on the closed toilet seat. He opened the bathroom cabinet pulling wipes and antiseptic pads out. The Gallagher’s were nothing if not prepared for an injury, mostly because Carl continued to blow himself up on a regular basis.

He took the wipes, pressing one to Mickey’s eyebrow. Mickey flinched back instinctively at the touch, so Ian pressed a gentle hand to the back of his head to keep him still. He cleaned Mickey up gently, shushing him when he occasionally cursed at the sting of an antiseptic wipe. When he was done, he deposited the used items in the bin and stepped back.

Before he had a chance to speak, Mickey stood up and pressed close. His hand came up, grasping Ian by the neck and Ian thought he might have stopped breathing. Mickey’s face inched closer and closer until his lips were just touching Ian’s.

“Thank you.”

Ian barely had chance to swallow the words before Mickey moved around him and out of the bathroom. He stood, pressed a finger to his still open lips and thought that really, as far as potential first kisses go (and he was damn well going to count that as a kiss) he wouldn’t have thought it would be from Mickey but he knew for damn well certain now, that he wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.

*-* 

The funeral wasn’t much. Terry had obviously not thought fondly enough of his wife to shell out on a decent coffin or burial but Ian was damn sure he’d probably put enough money behind the bar at the Alibi to get himself paralytic.

Once the meagre coffin had been lowered into the ground, Mickey had turned and walked away. Ian had taken one last look, squeezed Mandy’s arm and left her with Iggy before jogging to catch up with Mickey who seemed to be making quick pace back to his house. Ian followed, hopping up the stairs uncharacteristically silent as Mickey stormed into his room. Ian closed the door quietly behind him and watched as Mickey ripped the black shirt off, leaving himself in a tank and dropping to his bed, cigarette already in hand.

“Mick.” Ian started but was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t Gallagher. Just…don’t.” Mickey flicked his lighter, sparking up before taking deep swallowing drags of cigarette smoke. 

Ian maintained his position by the door until Mickey was half way through his cigarette. Kicking his shoes off, he walked slowly over to the bed before sitting next to the older boy. He held his hand out wordlessly and Mickey took note, handing the cigarette over. Ian finished it quickly, crushing it out in the makeshift ashtray by the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“No.” Mickey crossed his arms. “Asshole.” He added for good measure.

Ian chuckled, that was as good as a term of endearment from Mickey at least. “Well, I do.” He said, turning to lift a leg up onto the bed to turn to face Mickey. “Your mom was a good woman Mickey.”

Mickey scoffed but didn’t speak.

“She was. Okay, she wasn’t perfect but whose mom is? She’s worth about a million Monica’s. And she loved you Mickey, she loved you so much.” Ian brought a thumb up to brush away the tear that had seeped out of Mickey’s eye. 

“Yeah.” Mickey was quiet but Ian could hear him loud and clear. “Yeah she did. She loved me. I loved her and she loved me and now she’s gone and now there’s no one.”

“No one?” Ian queried, head tilted.

“No one that loves me. Now she’s gone, there’s no one that loves me.” The flood gates broke then, and for the first time in his short 16 years on the planet, Ian watched Mickey Milkovich cry. He watched, amazed but not uncomfortable at the show of emotion before the words really registered in his mind. Leaning forward he took Mickey’s face in his cool hands, turning the older boy to him. 

“No Mickey, that’s not true. That’s not true at all.” Ian worried his bottom lip as he watched Mickey’s brow furrow, tears still falling, confused. He took a deep breath. “I do. I love you.”

That seemed to be the key to get Mickey to stop crying at least. Ian’s green eyes darted between blue ones, breath held as he waited for a reaction, entirely unsure at this point of what that would be now that the confession had been made. Mickey’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed, but his expression was open, soft.

It was only moments later that his hand came up, trembling slightly, to lay over Ian’s on his cheek. He said nothing as he tilted his head forward lips pressing against Ian’s. The breath he’d been holding finally rushed out of Ian, and he made a soft eager noise as he tilted his head so their lips slid together easier. It took a minute for Ian to realise that Mickey was leaning backwards, tugging Ian with him as they fell back, Mickey’s legs dropping open so Ian could tuck himself in.

“You love me?” Mickey breathed against wet lips, eyes hooded. Ian nodded. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. “Then show me. Show me you love me.” Mickey’s lips pressed back to his, tongue seeking entry to his warm mouth. And all Ian could do was show him, it’s all he wanted to do.

It was breathy, and soft, and painful, and sweaty, and beautiful, and wonderful, and as awkward as first times go all things considered. Ian lost himself with each thrust and every one of Mickey’s gentle moans. Ian wanted to live inside Mickey for the rest of his days, if he could.

But he couldn’t, and eventually it was over and they were pressed close, sticky chests coming together on each heavy exhale. Ian dropped his head into Mickey’s neck, nose pressed into damp, soft skin. He felt Mickey before he heard him whisper.

“Tell me again, Ian.”

“I’m here Mickey. I’m here and I’ll always be here. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

*-*

Mickey pressed the door of their apartment open with his foot, dropping his backpack inside the doorway before he headed to the living room, wiping his still slightly greasy hands together.

“I swear, that fucker does it on purpose. He’s fucked the transmission, _again_ Ian. This is the third time this mo-” Looking up, he stopped abruptly when he spotted his sister sat with his redhead, her eyes brimming with tears.

“He’s dead Mickey. Dads dead.” Mandy whispered, hand coming up to rub at her wet cheek. 

Mickey inhaled for a second and a second was all it took. He came around Ian’s side of the couch, pressing a kiss to his freckly temple before dropping into their empty armchair. “Is he now? Good.” He pulled his smokes from his pocket, lighting up before looking up to find Ian’s brow drawn and Mandy scoffing at him.

“That’s all you have to say?” Her face creased up, the infamous Milkovich temper about to flare. Mickey took a second to knock his ash off into the ashtray before responding.

“Yeah, that’s all Mandy. What seemed to give you the impression that I’d give a shit? I don’t know about you but I kind of got sick of all the black eyes and busted lips he gave out like fucking candy on Halloween. And don’t get me started on what would have happened if he’d found out about us.” He gestured between Ian and himself. “We got out of there before he could fucking kill us and never looked back.” Mickey had never understood how Mandy could care about their father, he’d never treated any of them particularly well but he supposed Mandy had grown up the least affected by his temper.

“Fuck you Mickey, fuck you.” With that she stood, bag thrown over her shoulder before marching out of the apartment. Ian looked between the now shut door and Mickey, who dragged himself up off the armchair and dropped himself close to Ian on the couch. He stubbed the cigarette out before stretching his arms above his head.

“So yeah, this fucker at work-”

“Mick.” Ian’s voice interrupted, low.

“Don’t, Ian.” Mickey sighed, turning to face his boyfriend. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

Ian nodded, understanding. “Ok Mick, I know. But… this makes-” Ian smiled, hands gesticulating trying to find the right words. “This makes you free Mick.” He turned to face his partner, his love.

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his hand to cup Ian’s cheek. “No Ian, what you and I have, that’s what makes me free.”

Ian blinked before his face dropped into that soft, sappy expression that Mickey would only occasionally admit out loud to loving. His hand came up, pressing Mickey’s harder against his face as he leant forward pressing his lips to the older man’s. He pulled back slightly, noses brushing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Mickey laughed, pressing another soft kiss to pink lips.

“This might not be the most appropriate time.” Ian kissed back.

“Ian, you once came to the garage, pulled me out from under a car in the middle of my shift, kissed me and walked off without saying a word. The guys were ready to kick your ass before I explained who you were. You’re the king of inappropriate timing.” Mickey laughed. “What is it you wanted to ask?”

“Marry me Mickey Milkovich?” 

Mickey pulled back at that. It was totally unexpected. And yet it wasn’t at all. And if he was honest with himself, which he was trying to be these days, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to tie himself to the man in front of him for the rest of his damn life. He watched Ian swallow, nervously.

“Ian fucking Gallagher-”

“It’s Clayton actually.” Ian grinned.

“Ay, do you want to live to see 26?” Mickey’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline, trying to keep the smile from his lips.

“Sorry Mick, you were saying.” Ian feigned looking appropriately chastised.

“Ian fucking Gallagher. You’re a fucking dick, but you’re _my_ fucking dick. Of course I’ll marry you.” Mickey pulled him close, pressing Ian’s face into his neck, whispering the next words directly into his ear. “I love you, I love you so much.”

Pale arms slipped around him and tightened, holding him close. He felt the smile pressed against his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it :) I thought that was an appropriate ending, we can all envision their wedding as we would like it to be (a drunken, sweary, romantic affair I'm sure!)  
> [tumblr :)](https://matchst-ck.tumblr.com/)


End file.
